It happened
by Nina28
Summary: John Watson couldn't pinpoint the moment he had fallen in love with his best friend


p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #001521;"John Watson couldn't pinpoint the moment he had fallen in love with his best friend; it snuck up on him, clear as day to everyone but him, apparently. It had happened during a long night, their first evening as flatmates, when Sherlock Holmes had saved him, had performed the first of many miracles, curing him from his psychosomatic limp, making him laugh more than he had for years./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #001521;"It had happened when they had giggled on a crime scene and his gun was still warm, and he had killed a man for Sherlock. And he couldn't help but giggle, because Sherlock Holmes was absolutely the craziest, most charming, most impossible human being he had ever met, and he hadn't wanted that night to end. It happened in a lousy Chinese restaurant, near Baker Street, where they had wolfed down food, drunk sake and beer and had kept giggling, adrenaline making him feel younger, making him notice each and every detail of Sherlock's face, of his elegant hands and for the first time in months he had felt physical desire, he had felt lust humming in his blood – and Sherlock's voice, the rich timbre of it, had spoken directly to the pleasure centres of his brain./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #001521;"He had fallen in love with Sherlock on the way home, under a deep, almost black sky, thin rain falling over them, bristling cold but damn it had felt good to be alive, it had felt good to walk by Sherlock's side, and looking at his profile, at the smile curling on his lips had been the perfect ending of a fucked up but perfect day. It had happened while they climbed up the stairs and bid goodnight to each other and time had kind of slowed down and John had never believed it could actually happen in real life, to real people - but it had. It happened over a whispered goodnight and while he got ready for the night, and could hear Sherlock doing the same./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #001521;"span style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: oblique; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"This is my life. This is what I want./span/p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #001521;"It happened the morning after, over a cup of strong tea, drinking from one of Sherlock's cups, sharing breakfast with his new flatmate. It happened. Every day after, every time Sherlock was an insufferable dick and he recalled he could be charming, he could be his miracle worker, he could be the best friend he had ever had./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #001521;"It happened everytime Sherlock dragged him on a chase and his thirst for his two drugs of choice: adrenaline and Sherlock Holmes mingled and it was the best possible high. It happened – every day, when he still was caught off guard by how impossibly, otherworldly, breathtakingly beautiful Sherlock was./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #001521;"It happened when he was wrong about Sherlock and the man showed him time and again he could love and when he did, his love knew no bounds. It happened when Sherlock made him angry and made him laugh./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #001521;"It happened over meals consumed together, over listening to Sherlock playing his violin…and John Watson felt blessed. He felt lucky and loved. Loved by Sherlock Holmes. Loved by a hurricane, swept away by that impossible man – and John wouldn't want it any other way./p 


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